A Generation Never Meant to Endure
by awakeatnight
Summary: To Remus it only seemed right to bury this with James, because the Marauders were dead and would never be again, and strange as it may seem, it was their funeral too.


**I realize this is a little late, but this is in honour of Halloween and the anniversary of James and Lily's deaths for all of my fellow JPLE lovers out there because we won't forget.**

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><p>Remus stared in the mirror at the ragged man in front of him as he tugged on the too-short sleeve of the suit for possibly the hundredth time. It was with a heavy heart that he donned the faded grey, second-hand suit again; too many times it had been worn in the last few, short months.<p>

Sunday he had watched Mrs. Pettigrew weep over a small box containing all that was left of Wormtail, murdered by one of their own. She had arranged a quick funeral for her only son, his family and what was left of his friends gathered in mourning.

Although Lily and James had preceded Peter in death, their funeral was not to be held until this afternoon, for, without any remaining relatives, the task had fallen upon Remus, and his grieving heart had not been able to accept the finality of such an act, so it had been drawn out subconsciously by the man so terrified to be alone. He was weak and he knew it.

Remus sat down on the sofa he still slept upon in what had been Sirius' flat. Perhaps it was lack of anywhere else to go, but he still stayed here, even with Sirius in Azkaban. The rent was paid for another six months anyway before he would need to find someplace new. Somehow he couldn't leave this too, the smallest, irrational part of him refusing to believe that Sirius, their Sirius, would betray them.

It just didn't make sense. No one hated the dark arts more than Padfoot, and the question remained; why was he, Remus, of all the Marauders, chosen to live and bear this fate? Surely he would have wanted to kill them all, but starting with the darkest creature, not the young ones that were so full of life. And Harry, his own godson, how could he?

Remus found that the more days passed, the more unanswered questions remained. However, there was no one remaining to answer them but for the slow ticking of the kitchen clock that constantly reminded him that time was moving on, even as he believed the world had ended.

Looking at said clock he continued to tie his loafers more quickly, the funeral would be small enough as it was without him being late. Remus had organized the funeral and thought that, however unfortunate, small was how it should be.

Unfortunate because the wizarding world was celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord and very few people were actually mourning, and for Remus, he wouldn't feel right about laying them to rest unless the people surrounding them were the ones who cared about them, cried for their loss, not praised the ending of others' woes.

Unfortunate also because many of their friends had preceded them in death or worse fates. Remus was still in shock of the retaliatory attack on the Longbottoms by Sirius' crazy cousin and her husband. Remus cringed thinking of Sirius, shying away from the internal agony and confusion that overwhelmed him whenever he inadvertently thought of Sirius. Because he never thought about him if he could help it anymore. It was just too painful and too many mysteries left unsolved for him to handle.

Remus picked up a small box off the table, aged and covered in magical graffiti, and left the flat without a backwards glance.

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><p>The attendance was low at the funeral, more noticeable were the people that should be there but were not. James and Lily had been heroes and deserved a grand funeral, with loved ones overflowing the church, weeping over the young couples' untimely demise.<p>

But this was a war, and the motley crew Remus had assembled in Godric's Holllow were all that was left. James and Lily had probably received a greater reception from their would-be mourners on the other side than Remus was able to provide on this end, the side of the living.

Minerva, Albus and Hagrid were the first to arrive to pay their respects. Hagrid kept blowing his nose loudly on a handkerchief the size of a table cloth, the only noise in the still air of the church. Dumbledore's eyes no longer held their familiar sparkle, and the usual tight bun McGonagall wore her hair in had been loosened, either in honour of the occasion, or because she simply hadn't noticed; the dark strands were barely held up, clinging desperately to slipping hairpins.

Filius Flitwick showed up a little after Dumbledore, the lines in his face apparent with his ever-present smile missing. He strode over to stand next to McGonagall, his head barely reaching her elbow, as she acknowledged him with a small, sad smile.

Emmaline Vance looked more sombre than he had ever seen her, although no tears fell from her eyes. She looked deadened, numb to all the death around her. Perhaps she simply had no more tears left; after all it had only been two months since she had been forced to bury her entire family.

Mad-Eye stood beside her looking gruff. No tears fell from his eyes either, normal or magical, but Remus thought his shoulders looked a little slumped as he awkwardly patted a startled Emmaline on the shoulder, in a way he must have meant to be sympathetic.

Dedulus Diggle was wearing a horrible suit of deep plum, although Remus thought that perhaps his own attire rendered him unfit to pass judgement. Dedulus' usually amicable face was drawn and he was unusually quiet.

There was one more attendee of this rather pathetic show; Remus had sent her notice of course, but hadn't truly expected she would come. Standing alone in the very back, away from prying eyes, was Petunia Dursley, with neither husband, son, nor recently inherited nephew.

Too many of their friends were already gone, lost to them, the none-too-subtle blows dealt by war. And they felt like blows to the pit of Remus' stomach as he looked around the empty church, the first two pews were all that were needed to house their miserable party. They were gone; all of them, and it didn't feel real.

James' family, so accepting, treating him and the other marauders like sons of their own, even with his condition; Remus constantly felt the dull ache of the loss of his second family. Lily's parents were also gone, and not even James had known how much she blamed herself.

Frank and Alice; Remus had seen them only days ago, happy and well, and now they too were gone to them, leaving their son, Harry's age, to be raised by someone else.

Edgar Bones had had too strong of a stance in the Order, and they had killed him because he refused to stand with the majority of the prominent purebloods in this stupid war. Even his children had not been spared.

Gideon and Fabian; they had gone out fighting like the heroes they were, but they too were gone, never again to ignite laughter with their identical smiles of mischief. Dorcas Meadowes had simply known too much, been too clever, and Voldemort had seen to her murder himself.

Marlene; their Marlene, they had taken her and her whole family. Caradoc and Benjy; disappeared entirely, Remus still clung to the hope they were alive, but knew the slim chances.

The agony was making Remus sick as he thought of them all and so many more, the only thought that gave him solace was that they were at peace, and selfishly, he pitied himself, one of the last survivors of a generation that was never meant to endure.

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><p>Petunia's eyes were dry as she listened to the proceedings, but to Remus she seemed numb also. The small group paid her no mind as she made her way to the caskets to pay her last respects to her only sister. And this they did out of respect, because even though she despised them, no one wanted to make this day harder on her, the only blood relative in attendance, than it already had to be.<p>

Petunia stood timidly at the side of the one casket. It seemed she was drinking in her sister's face, as though she was all too aware that she would never see her again. Her eyes never once strayed to James. Slowly she pulled from her handbag a small, stuffed rabbit that had surely seen its better days well over a decade ago and laid it gently by Lily's side.

Remus was not trying to eavesdrop, but one unfortunate side effect of being a werewolf meant he couldn't not hear the soft, broken, "I'm sorry" that floated to his ears alone. He wished he hadn't heard it.

Tentatively, Petunia reached out and touched one of Lily's long, scarlet locks, the smallest diamond rolling down her cheek, before retracting her hand, pursing her lips, and walking straight out of the church. She didn't return. And no one commented.

Remus was the last one to pay his respects, they all seemed to be waiting for him, knowing that no one would miss Lily and James Potter as much as he. He became unaware of the watchful eyes on him as he approached them.

Lily was laid on the right, deep crimson hair splayed across the pillow of the casket, dark lashes brushing the creamy white skin of her cheeks and a peaceful smile playing on her lips. She was breathtaking. Even in death she had this effect Remus acknowledged with a choked sob. She had been as good a friend to him as the Marauders. Somehow when she had discovered his secret for herself, he had been terrified, but deep down, he had not been overly surprised by her reaction.

From that day on she had become fiercely protective of him and he couldn't help but smile a little at the, admittedly, frightening demeanour the small girl could posses. But she wasn't a girl anymore. Here lay before him a beautiful woman, whose life had been ripped from her before it had barely begun. And she would have done it again in a heartbeat just for the chance to make a difference, a sentiment that had helped tie her and James together in a deeper respect than many could ever hope for.

It was with much more apprehension that he turned to look at James for the first time that day. He lay peacefully with his eyes closed, jet black hair as messy as ever, glasses resting lightly on his straight nose. Whoever had posed them certainly had known them, for James' mouth was lilted in a very small, but slightly lopsided smirk and Remus was absurdly reminded of the hundreds of times they were forced to run back to their dorms and feign sleep before a fuming McGonagall or Filch came to blame them for the latest mischief.

James had never been able to keep a straight face, and it was of this that Remus reminisced. But he wasn't pretending; the tears rolling down McGonagall's cheeks instead of the customary I-do-not-believe-for-one-instant-that-you-have-been-up-here-sleeping-this-entire-time face brought reality sickeningly back to him.

He placed the box he had brought with him of all the Marauders' greatest treasures over the years, next to James, the jumble of random items settling in place, even the snitch James had nicked quit fluttering feebly, as it accepted that this would be its final resting place too. It seemed right that the lid of the box was all that showed, the large JP + LE standing out more than all the other magical graffiti the box had been decorated with.

To Remus it only seemed right to bury this with James, because the Marauders were dead and would never be again, and strange as it may seem, it was their funeral too. Four boys who had grown and lived and laughed and loved together. The innocent friendship they had once had was now dead and it only seemed right to mourn it also.

So Remus buried his last true friends, both past and present, and mourned for that which once was. The tombstone was placed above their heads, reading, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death" and for Remus, it would be. The enemy that separated him from those he loved, and so here he would wait until death saw fit to take him into her clutches and mercifully rejoin them.

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><p><strong>This is told from Remus' point of view and is rather sombre because I view this as probably the lowest point of his life; the end of the Marauders, with him left to face the world alone, his closest friends torn away from him in one quick betrayal (not that he knows the true betrayer). Its not my usual style, however I picture Remus' thoughts being more broken and reminiscing at this moment in time, so I hope I did it justice. <strong>

**And FYI before anyone goes flaming me, I realize that they found bits of Benjy Fenwick, but at this point they have not recovered them yet and are still trying to locate the whereabouts of him (and Caradoc Dearborn, but of course we know that is to no avail). **

**I found this a pleasantly challenging piece to write so let me know what you think! Thanks!**


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